


Relations

by Zoe Rayne (MontanaHarper)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-10-03
Updated: 2007-10-03
Packaged: 2017-10-18 16:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/190949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MontanaHarper/pseuds/Zoe%20Rayne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from “What Is and What Should Never Be.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relations

**Author's Note:**

> Originally started for one of Signe’s Porn Battles, this didn’t get finished in time, so I ended up submitting it to the Guess the Author competition on [spn_gleeweek](http://community.livejournal.com/spn_gleeweek/) instead.

After Sam’s recitation of Dean’s fuck-ups, Dean can’t blame him for not wanting to hang out. Turns out Dean’s kind of a dick. And okay, that’s not really that much of a surprise, but the fact that him being a dick is what’s come between him and Sam? That’s not only a surprise, but an unpleasant one.

So when Jess pleads a migraine and goes to bed with a handful of pills, Dean takes Carmen aside and shares his plan with her. She raises her eyebrows, but doesn’t knock him on his ass or laugh at him for suggesting it, so that’s a good first step. Instead, she just says, “Are you sure?”

He’s sure. There’s an ache low in his gut that he can’t put a name to, but he’s sure.

He kisses her, and smacks her ass lightly when she turns away, and when they walk into the next room she’s yawning. “I’m beat,” she says, shooting him a quick glance like she’s reassuring herself that he’s _really_ okay with this.

Taking his cue, he says, “Why don’t you crash out in my old room. I’m gonna go down the street and have that drink.” It doesn’t take any acting at all to pull up a wry grin at the thought of drinking alone in celebration. He makes a show of giving Carmen the keys to his baby before he leaves, because it’d suck if Sam insisted on going with him now, or tried to stop him out of some twisted sense of duty.

But Sam lets him go, and Dean actually makes it the handful of blocks to the bar and is sitting and nursing an El Sol when the itch between his shoulder blades gets so bad that he abandons the half-full bottle and heads back to the house, letting himself in quietly and making his way up the stairs. His bedroom door is ajar, and he nudges it a little further, not sure what he’s going to see. It’s crossed his mind that Sam might turn Carmen down, might not even realize what he’s being offered, but as Dean’s eyes adjust to the dim moonlight that illuminates the room he lets himself stop worrying.

They’re lying crossways on the bed, Sam’s feet still on the floor and his huge hands nearly spanning Carmen’s narrow waist as he fucks up into her. Her head’s thrown back, and she looks dark and golden and beautiful. The ache in his gut turns into something else, something hotter that feels like it’s going to burn him up from the inside, and he realizes that he’s never actually seen her like this before, at least not that he remembers.

It’s right that Sam should get to have this first, before Dean does.

Then Carmen’s head drops forward and she obviously catches sight of him because he can see the whites of her eyes as they widen in surprise; she hadn’t expected him back. He nods at her, hoping that she gets that this is exactly right, exactly what he wanted, and she must because she leans forward to kiss Sam, tossing her hair to the side as she does, so that Dean can see.

Sam’s hand comes up and strokes her cheek almost tenderly, the shift and roll of his hips stuttering as they both seem to get distracted by the slow, easy intimacy of kissing. Dean’s breathing softly through his mouth now, hand pressed hard against his fly to try to relieve some of the ache in his dick, but it’s not enough.

He flicks open the buttons, his fingers slipping under the waistband of his shorts and around his dick. There’s really no room to move his hand the way he wants, but he doesn’t dare strip any further; getting caught jerking off to his girlfriend and his brother knocking boots would be the final nail in the coffin of his and Sam’s relationship.

So he leans one shoulder against the doorframe and does the best he can with short, twisting strokes, taking in as much of the scene as possible in the dim light. It’s more like softcore porn than it is like the good stuff, all artistically lit and Dean’s at the wrong angle to get a decent view of the action: Sam’s dick sliding home into Carmen’s pussy. Then Sam sits up— _stands_ up, lifting Carmen with him—and Dean’s thighs tremble in sympathy as Sam turns them both around and re-settles them longways on the bed, Carmen’s legs wrapped around his waist.

Dean still doesn’t have a good angle, but it’s starting to matter less and less. He doesn’t need to actually see what Sam’s hand is doing between their bodies; the flex and shift of muscle in Sam’s arm and the soft, breathy moans from Carmen are enough to tell him that Sam’s thumb is working her clit as he fucks her. Dean’s breathing pretty hard himself at this point, his hand moving fast and rough. Carmen’s cries get louder and Sam leans in to muffle them with his mouth, kissing her as she arches up against him and comes.

Sam doesn’t stop, though; he just pulls back a little and slides his arms under her knees, hitches her up until she has to press her hands flat against the wall above her head to brace the two of them. Dean’s dick twitches hard at the little moans Carmen makes as Sam pounds into her, and it only takes another couple of quick jerks before he’s coming in his shorts, his free hand pressed to his mouth to stifle any sounds that might draw Sam’s attention to him.

Once he catches his breath, Dean drags his hand out of his boxers and flinches as the sticky fabric clings to him, cold and wet and uncomfortable, but it’s hardly the worst thing he’s had to live with. He takes a step back, pulling the door a little further closed before buttoning his jeans and heading quietly downstairs. It should be safe to crash on the couch until morning; everyone but Carmen will just assume he came home too drunk to find his way up the stairs and into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Casspeach for the fabulous beta.


End file.
